CHAPTER 14

February 6

9:00 AM. EST. The White House

Donna put the phone down with shaking hands. "What is it?" Carol asked.

"Margaret's dead."

All the color drained from Carol's face. "What happened?"

"I don't know. Her neighbor noticed her front door open, went in, and found her lying there. That was the police on the phone a second ago."

Donna was crying. "Why do we have to go through this?" she yelled, "Dammit! Why?"

February 7

10:00 AM. EST. Supreme Court

They called themselves a political party, but Josh thought that they were more of a cult. A cult bent on world domination. If that wasn't straight from a bad action movie then he didn't know what was. They called themselves the United Front and their leader was Roger Grainger. He was a small man wearing an expensive suit and a neutral expression. When he was called up to the stand he invoked his Fifth Amendment right on every question, even though the judge forced him to answer most of them. His second-in-command, Glen Crocker, however, spilled everything.

They'd planned the bombing to throw everything into a state of chaos. While everyone was running around like chickens with their heads cut off (Crocker's exact words), Grainger would rise up as a leader. From there they would gain the trust of the American people and use their power and resources to over throw governments around the world. It was such a preposterous plan that it never should've gotten off the ground except for the fact that one member of the Front was in the FBI. Thomas Dunlay. Crocker explained his role.

"He was in the President's protection unit. When he went through the building beforehand to check it out, he slipped the bomb under the podium. During the speech he detonated it and BOOM! The whole place was gone!"

"But why not recruit Bartlet? He'd've been useful to you, wouldn't he?"

Crocker thought about it for a second. "Yeah, I guess. But he would've fought Grainger for the power. Nobody but Grainger can rule us."

CJ was sure she'd be ill. Josiah Bartlet had been killed by these guys? This had to be a sick joke.

"Explain Dunlay's role."

"I did."

"Step by step."

"Alright. First he let in another one of our guys who cut the power lines. He escorted him down past all the security. Then he cut around on the second floor and went out and chained the doors shut. He was supposed to get far away, but I guess he had to set it off right then because they found him near the door."

Went around on the second floor...CJ could hear the footsteps behind her again and jerked around. Carol looked at her, concerned, but CJ just shook her head.

She and Josh weren't testifying for a few days but both of them were here, along with Donna and Carol. They all felt it was their responsibility to their friends to watch justice carried out. They were here for everyone who'd died that night, whether physically or in their soul.

"Do you feel your mission was a success?"

Crocker glared directly into CJ's eyes. She gazed steadily back.

"Not quite."

February 8

1:00 AM. EST. Supreme Court

CJ went first. The room was silent as she wheeled up to the stand. Several other survivors had testified but she was the only one so far who had known the President personally.

For twenty minutes she sat up there telling them what had happened. She spoke quickly, trying to get it over with. But several times the defense stopped her and asked for her to go into more detail. Every time the man raised his hand to stop her, Josh imagined sticking it in a food processor. Why couldn't he just let her talk?

"You say you found a closet of some kind?" one defense attorney said right after CJ had stated that fact.

"Yes."

"And the explosion missed it?"

"No."

"Then how are you alive?"

"Dumb luck?"

"Ms. Cregg—"

"Fine. I don't know. The walls were probably concrete or something. Yeah, that's probably it."

"Alright, so you got into the concrete closet. Then what?"

"That's what I was about to say when you interrupted me." She knew that being snarky probably wasn't the best idea right now, but this man was really pissing her off.

"So go on."

"Thank you. So we got in there and waited either for the fire to come in and get us or pass. Apparently it passed but then the walls collapsed. I remember one beam landed on Josh and I was trying to pull him out from under it but then I got pinned too. I remember everything falling around us and on top of us and it was so hot..."

She couldn't finish. Avoiding the defense's hostile eyes, she scanned the crowd. She recognized a few of the reporters from the press room.

Who was that in the back? Dark brown beard and a scowl. His dark, pissed off eyes met hers. Don't give up, they said. Don't be a coward.

"Ms. Cregg?"

CJ shook her head. "Yeah, everything sort of surrounded us, then stopped. We huddled together, not able to move. I thought we would suffocate. Then everything shifted and fell. I must've been hit then because I don't remember anymore.

"Are you sure?"

"Positive."

"Thank you. No further questions, Your Honor."

Josh went up next. He still didn't remember all that much of what had happened. CJ wondered how well they'd take that.

"Mr. Lyman," the prosecution lawyer said, "Please tell us the events of the night of January twentieth."

"I don't remember much."

"Tell us what you do remember." This man was patient and his eyes were sympathetic, the opposite of the hard look on the face of every defense lawyer.

"I-I remember it was hot. Ungodly hot. And the noise, it was like a train or something. But mostly the heat."

"Is that all you remember?"

"Yeah."

"No further questions."

Josh watched him go back to his table. That had been too quick. The defense was going to stomp all over him.

A different defense lawyer got up. He strode over to the witness stand.

"Mr. Lyman, you claim that upon waking on January twenty-sixth, you still thought it was January eighteenth. Is that right?"

"Yes."

"So you do not remember anything."

"I remember the heat."

"Yes, we're all aware of that. But is there anything else? Anything at all?"

"No."

"No!" the lawyer shouted triumphantly. "Ladies and gentlemen," he nodded to the jury, "this man is unable to provide any information for this hearing. He is merely being paraded up here to evoke sympathy for the prosecution."

"Objection!"

"Sustained." The judge said, "Mr. Masters, please?"

"My apologies, Your Honor," said the lawyer, who had to be Mr. Masters.

"It's not like they need me up here to get sympathy." Josh muttered, "Your client already killed off their families."

"Mr. Lyman," the judge said. Masters glared at him.

"What was your first recollection upon waking?" he asked.

"I thought several of my colleagues were playing a joke on me."

"Then what?"

"I noticed I was in a hospital."

"Then?"

"I saw my assistant sitting next to me."

"Before that."

"Nothing."

"Nothing? That's not what it says here." Masters waved a piece of paper in his face. "What I have here is a transcript of your discussion with the prosecution before this hearing began. I quote, 'My first thought was that I was still in the hospital from Rosslyn, what had happened there. That my entire life since then had been a dream.' Do you recognize those words?"

"Yes." What was he getting at now?

"Who said them?"

"I did."

"Mr. Lyman," Masters said, "Is it true that you suffer from Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder?"

Josh's heart started racing. How did he know that?

"Yes." He muttered.

Masters leaned closer. "Didn't catch that."

"Yes!"

"Funny. Doesn't seem like something that a senior staffer for the President should be able to have."

Josh wasn't sure how he should answer that or whether he should at all. So he sat and waited for Masters to speak again.

CJ was furious, but at the same time worried. She'd known that Josh had PTSD and she knew what could happen because of it.

"Sufferers of this dreaded disorder," Masters's voice softened on the last two words and Josh could tell that the man was mocking him, "often have violent episodes in which they may lash out and hurt themselves or others. Isn't that true?"

"No."

"No?"

"Not often, no."

"But they do occur."

"Yes."

"Has this ever happened to you?"

"What does this—"

"Please answer the question."

"It has nothing to do with—"

"It has everything to do with this investigation."

"How?"

"Do you have control over your actions during these episodes?"

"Yeah."

"Complete control?"

Josh didn't answer. "Please answer the question." The judge said.

"No."

"No you won't answer?"

"No I don't have complete control over my actions at those times."

His face was deep red. This man was purposely humiliating him. But for what purpose? What strategy was he trying now that his sympathy argument had failed?

"You don't?" Masters turned again to the jury. "Ladies and gentlemen, did you hear him? He has little control over his actions at random times. I strongly urge you to disregard this witness because he is obviously not of sound mind."

"Objection!"

The prosecution table exploded with yells. Mortified, Josh glared at Masters who smiled smugly back.

"Mr. Lyman, you can't tell us anything, can you? You can't even tell us that the Capitol blew up!"

"Look outside!"

"Do you remember it?"

"Yes! I told you what I know!"

"But isn't there a possibility that it never happened?"

Josh laughed. "I'm not of sound mind? Are you honestly trying to prove that?"

"I'm talking about in your memory. Do you think that maybe your recollections could be a product of your mind?"

"What are you, a shrink?" Why was his voice so high?

"Josh." Masters's voice was soft and attempting to be calming, "We need to know this. Let's put the facts together. You have PTSD, a disorder that causes you to lash out and lose control. It also causes flashbacks. Is there even the tiniest possibility that the heat and noise you remember could be a flashback to the night you were shot?"

"They're trying to prove that he's crazy." Carol whispered to Donna. "Dammit, if the jury agrees they'll disregard his testimony. We've only got so many witnesses."

"They aren't seriously trying to prove that they didn't do it? I mean, they confessed."

"No, they'll be found guilty. But his testimony could mean the death penalty for Grainger. Did you notice that he and CJ are the only witnesses from inside?"

Donna was watching Josh. His eyes were wide, darting around the room. He was trying to buy time. Then he fixated on something in the back of the room. His eyes widened even more for a second, then he smiled.

"Mr. Masters," he said, "Then differences between my memories of the night I was shot and the night of January twentieth are enormous. As far as I know, gunshot wounds aren't accompanied by the fires of hell. And I've had enough 'violent episodes' to know the difference between a flashback and a plain memory. Who do you seriously think you're kidding?"

About an hour later, CJ and Josh were sitting in Donna's car, waiting for their assistants to come back out. "CJ?"

"Yeah."

"This probably sounds nuts but when you were up there, in the back of the room, did you see—"

"Toby."